


Middle Watch

by Ithika



Series: Remorseless [7]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 19:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5678074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithika/pseuds/Ithika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of peace aboard the Ranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Middle Watch

A ship at sea never sleeps. Not if her captain is wise and her crew to task; there is always work to be done, always a need for alert hands before the mast to step to and mind her business for her. The _Ranger_  is no different, but the deep, cold hours well before dawn in middle watch are some of the quietest.

She idles at anchor, restless waves licking at her flanks as she strains and groans against her iron tether. Ordinarily her wings would be open and she’d glide across the waves day and night on the hunt, but tonight they waited for the dawn, a torn course on the mizzen a source of this especially scant night watch and rare inactivity. 

Her captain seeks peace, quiet, a moment of solitude, and this is the time for it. At the bow, the headsails are bound and rolled against the bowsprit, and the man looks futilely out into the infinite blackness of the sea and sky. 

The ship’s few lanterns cast light onto white-capped peaks in the water, but only for a few scant metres from the vessel - this moonless night not one to divulge the secrets of the sea. Long hair is caught by the frigid wind that whispers past his ears and chills him to the bone despite his heavy clothing. The stars twinkle at him, as still and distant as they ever are, a thousand thousand of them sprayed across the great vault above them. Occasionally, the spectre of a mast obscures them from view - if you are very still, you can imagine that it is the sky that moves above you, and the ship that is solid and immovable. 

The cold is pervasive. No clothes, no matter how thick and warm, can cut the bite from the tenacious wind - his warm body is assaulted by tendrils of frigid air even as the ship is at rest, the cold ocean giving the man no discount for his many long years of service upon her.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way. The distant stars entertain his gaze for many hours during the long dark nights, while the frigid wind keeps his mind and body alert, staving off sleep. This night, as he shivers in the wind, he’s content to simply watch the stars, at peace with his place in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my own experiences crewing a tall ship, the Leeuwin II.


End file.
